


In Your Shadow

by Tyellas



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cunnilingus, F/F, Femslash, Furiosa is the most eaten out character in the history of fandom, Gas Town, Lesbian Sex, Motorcycles, Post-Mad Max: Fury Road, Reunion Sex, Reunions, The Citadel, The Valkyrie (Mad Max) Lives, a little long, but who wants to go for a ride with the Valkyrie, don't ask where the Vuvalini get their biltong, hint: Furiosa does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-10 01:12:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12288093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyellas/pseuds/Tyellas
Summary: Valkyrie lives! And her road to the Citadel gets her stories about Furiosa’s Citadel deeds. By the time they reunite, the only guarantee is that passions will run high.





	In Your Shadow

The sound of crows roused Valkyrie. She opened her eyes to the cruel ochre ground, groped for her rifle. _Furiosa!_ Where was she?

That moment’s adrenaline let Valkyrie lever herself upright. Then she remembered more. All her pain flooded back.

Furiosa’s road war had been raging around them, and badly. The Immortan’s roaring armada had them surrounded. Valkyrie had cursed her compulsion to stay on her own bike. Her own Auntie Maadi, driving, had taken a shot meant for her, gone down. Valkyrie had been shooting for both their lives, as well as the lives in the Rig.

Maadi had jerked at Valkyrie’s knee. Shoot or listen, fight or take the moment? Ripped with doubt, she lowered her rifle, dropped to listen. Maadi had creaked one word, “Possum.” And then -

They were _under_ a truck, its rushing blackness above them.

Valkyrie had flattened herself over her auntie as best she could. It wasn’t good enough. Something bashed the back of her head, sent her spinning into darkness…

Now, she was awake again. Her mouth quirked. _Played possum if I wanted to or not, Auntie._ If she’d stayed standing an instant longer, she would’ve died, too. It had been, as the Vuvalini said, close enough to kill your shadow.

Valkyrie could have said that aloud if she wanted to. The berserk cavalcade that had turned their run into a road war was gone. All that remained were deep, dirty tracks. The ringing she heard was only her own head, not the Doof Warrior’s jangling noise. Her auntie, beside her, was livid and still.

She was alone.

She knew what she had to do. It was a sun-baked, aching slog. The bike, astoundingly, was almost all right. Maadi must have flicked the engine off when they’d gone down. Valkyrie stripped Maadi of her gear and buried her, defying the crows. This done, Valkyrie hauled arse to the nearest Vuvalini cache. Only someone who’d navigated the sands since they’d been stripped bare of green could have found the Many Mothers' dugout of supplies.

By the time Val had stowed Maadi’s gear there and chewed through some biltong, a winter night had fallen. Valkyrie dug back through the cache dugout for a blanket, wrapping it around her. She sat down and gazed at the spill of stars above, focusing on the Pleiades, seven stars just above the horizon. The desert night’s cold wanted her bones for its own.

So different from the night before, with the returned Furiosa by her side.  

What now?

She was the youngest of the Vuvalini. She had expected to be alone in their waste land of a world someday. Joining the Rock Riders didn’t seem like a life to her. To join that strict tribe, she’d have to leave her own thoughts and past behind, become somebody else. The alternative had been solitude weighed by sorrow, picking apart their caches one by one. Eventually, she'd surrender to bad luck or the loneliness of the starlit cold. Tonight felt like both of those.

And it also wasn’t. Because, unlike what she’d pictured, there might still be people out there for her. The other Vuvalini, if any still lived. Those vivid, determined girls. Furiosa.

Valkyrie twisted Maadi’s scarf around her neck and did a bad job of sleeping. It was more half-dreaming. She shifted through memories of friendship and young desire; of awful, destructive change, death upon death; of hope. Furiosa’s crew had offered escape and redemption from the dwindling desert years. Valkyrie found herself awake for sunrise, watching all the stars fade out save Venus, with a decision.

She would follow their road and see if they survived.

Valkyrie turned her back on the dawn to do it. Her shadow raced tall before her as she rode westwards.

The road war's tracks were where she had left them. There was more death along the way, burned and crow-picked. She picked up fuel, and ammunition, and spare boots, and a growing sense of horror. None of the corpses she passed were women. But darkness flickered at the edge of her vision. Mirages, or lingering concussion. Or other women's shadows, riding beside her, haunting her from a space between life and death.

Close to the Rock Riders’ canyon, Valkyrie paused. The road under the hard noon sun told two tales. Some tracks ran straight ahead. Others curved left, to trace the long way down the high hills. The only wheels she could identify for sure were the mighty treads of Furiosa’s Rig, cutting the deepest of all. They did not turn.

From this side of the hills, the Rock Riders’ allies could summon them. Valkyrie went to a hill hollow that sheltered a steel-tank drum. After she banged it, ochre helmets popped up along the hilltops. None of them were close enough for their talismans to be more than an occasional flash.

Valkyrie held her empty hands high. “I’m looking for a woman. Driving a rig, a huge tanker truck.”

The Rock Riders called out in turn. “Sounds like your enemy’s ours.”

“Filthy Furiosa! She schlanged us good.”

“Busted our deal, brought a road war to our rocks, shot Rider Prime!”

 _“Busted a deal?”_   Valkyrie lowered her hands, lips parting in horror.

“Brought the whole bloody road war back through yesterday. The ones who didn’t peel off for Gastown are meat and metal now.” There was a pause. “Your healer with you?”

Valkyrie shook her head. “No. No, she’s not with me.” She glanced at the heaviest tire tracks again. “Can I go through? I can barter.” Her voice went weak and dry on the last words. She reached back to pat last night's blanket, rolled and strapped to her bike.

The Rock Rider toll-takers shouted down, “Not you and not nobody!”

 “They blew the canyon – two rigs wrecked, one ride left. Hers!”

“Ride high or go the long way.”

“You find Furiosa, you tell her death is on its way! She shot my brother. I’m coming for her…”

“Kez, no!”

“Both of you shut your mouths. You’re earning a curse!”

Valkyrie left them to argue. She rolled her bike back to where the tracks parted. Only to stand there, thinking, long enough for the light to change. It took a while to sink in, that Furiosa had broken a deal. Deals were the one law of the wasted lands. If the Vuvalini left somebody alive long enough to talk to them, let alone to deal, they were precious allies against the desert. Breaking a deal rotted the frail networks of the few sane people left.

In the end, Valkyrie followed the tracks going left. She knew where they headed. Away from the Vuvalini’s scattered caches and her last sure allies: towards Gastown.

The long way around the hills took five days. In Valkyrie’s evenings, digging up sandy water from the hill bases, weariness made her rational. Furiosa had shown up with obscene resources packed into that Rig. She’d been in a place where she needed others so little that she could break a deal. In their night and half-day together, after that shattering scream, Furiosa had opened her arms, but not her mouth. It had been the girls with Furiosa who had told their stories. Valkyrie thought, now, that she realized why.

Not that Valkyrie had been forthcoming, herself. The other Vuvalini, with their Before-time tales, had chatted to the girls. Val, herself, had watched Furiosa’s Fool, a man with bruised eyes who knew what bait was. He’d proved that the next day, with the bait he offered, and how well it worked on them all. Even Furiosa. The exhausted sag of Furiosa at the idea, replaced by quiet strength, had been proof for Val that she was still their Furiosa.

Riding by day, Valkyrie admitted why Furiosa still filled her thoughts. The long wasting years had melted away when they were together. With the Rig riders, Furiosa had been the crux of all their action and attention. As the youngest Vuvalini, Valkyrie had felt that weight, too: all others' hope and need. For a night and a morning, they'd had each other's back. Valkyrie had left the wastes thinking that, if Furiosa lived, they might find that again. The longer she rode and thought, the less sure she was.

By the time Valkyrie could smell Gastown, her fuel jugs were empty, and her bike’s tank had a disturbing rattle. The Flamers at the Gastown bridge let her through. When she offered a pair of their street wretches something to watch her bike, she got her boots kissed into the bargain. For some shielding against the place, she shrouded her head in Maadi's scarf. She strode along, glad to see the masked denizens oozing away from her and her rifle. The hustle of a big settlement made her blood sharp.

From a long-ago visit with Keeper of the Seeds, she remembered where the news was likely to be reliable: the least grimy drinking establishment. Keeper had also warned her to set a goal and stick to it for strangers’ dealings. Val narrowed it down to a sniper’s pinpoint. Get in, get what she needed, and get out without bartering away another Vuvalini treasure. The further she went from Maadi’s grave, the more their crafts and scraps clung to her fingers.

The bar’s entry was a curtain of rubber strips. Removing her weapons at the door gave everyone a chance to see her. Valkyrie squared her shoulders. The longer she could stay without having to start a fight, the more she’d learn. The half-filled bar rearranged itself as one man stepped forwards. He was a whitefella, taller than the Fool, strapped into brown leather and goggles. “Look at you. Dust and death. Fresh meat for the grinder! Straight from the unforgiving wastes?”

Valkyrie lifted her chin. “I can barter.”

The man laughed richly. “You don’t even know who I am! Me,” he gestured grandly at himself, “I’m the Outcrier. I say hop, this place jumps. I say start your engines, they race and die for me. And I may be down to deal. Got news from the never-never, Wastelander?”

For all his bluster, this Outcrier’s stance was cool and distant. Val appreciated that. She said, “News for news. I’m looking for a woman. Her name is Furiosa.”

 “The Bag of Nails! Hear she’s got the Citadel in lockdown now. Once Gastown sorts out who’s in charge here they’ll deal. Or decide to get what they want by force. Not a bad time to be a Wastelander, hey? Get to pick sides!”

“She’s there….where’s the Citadel from here?”

The Outcrier leaned back against the bar, dropping his voice. “Take my advice. Stay out of it. Work the blood-and-guts circuit for a few years. Gastown, the waste lands, they always need a hero. I could get you started if you do me a favour. Dangerous, but you look up to that.”

Valkyrie lifted her chin proudly. This was far better than being bait. “I’ve got my own errands,” she said.

“You say that now! Citadel…just…takes. It’s their cult or nothing. Turn them down without backup, you’ll be their blood bag or breeder. Or they’ll Blood Circle you, a sacrifice for their Immortan. Furiosa?” The Outcrier's hands snapped two lengths of rubberized wire together. They cracked like a whip. “She kept ‘em all in line. Won’t be long before we hear about Immorta Furiosa.”

The Outcrier’s voice smoothed again. “Me, I run the real deal. I’ll make the blood and guts worth your while.”

Valkyrie flashed back to the road of fury she’d left behind her, the road war that had left her for dead. “I don’t know that anything does.” She turned on her heel and left.

Despite this success, a triumph for any huntress, Valkyrie was even less sure than before that her journey was about to end. She bartered the blanket for enough fuel to fill her tank and containers, and the easiest directions she’d ever received. When Gastown settled down at dawn, she rode out. North. You couldn’t, she’d been told, miss it.

Valkyrie’s mind buzzed more on the short Citadel run than it had on the long slog. The half-buried road, real asphalt, turned the bike’s jolts into a smooth thrum, setting a pulse throbbing in her crotch. The ride brought up young memories of Furiosa: taking turns learning to ride a dirt bike, hiding out, watching another asphalt road for raiders. Raiders arriving. Those thoughts blurred against the harsh things she’d learned about Furiosa where this road began.

When the Citadel came over the horizon, Val had to pull over. Her legs were trembling. _Everything you need._ _Long as you’re not afraid of heights,_ those girls had said.  They hadn’t gotten the scale of the place across. The green lines along the mountaintops were blinding. Gastown was scabby and dying, the waste lands were running down. The world was waiting to shed humanity. Except for this place…

Finally, she took a breath, kicked the bike to life, and revved up to her finish.

The promising green had sucked in every wanderer in the territory. This was why the Vuvalini’s hills had been empty. Everyone was here, mobs living in a mess of tents, lean-tos, dug-outs. Seeing her bike and rifle, the crowd here gave Valkyrie the same strange respect that the Outcrier had. And Valkyrie felt what she could be, without the need of her many mothers weighing her down. She could turn back, take to the waiting road. _The waste lands, they always need a hero…._

The pulse was in her chest now, her throat. There was no denying it. Valkyrie took herself to the end of the road.

What happened next was a strange blur of shouting, vast machinery, masked guards who looked tiny as they descended on a chained platform. Valkyrie reached up and pulled Maadi's scarf away, letting her black hair cascade free, sending her voice ringing. “I am Valkyrie. I am one of the Vuvalini.”

The two guards eyed each other. Then the left-hand guard, his skin coated with dark, glistening carbon, leapt to the platform’s edge. “You a woman?” Taken aback, Valkyrie nodded. He made a swooping gesture with a long pole. “Come on up.” She rolled her bike onto the platform, heart hammering.

As the platform began to sway upwards, the right-side guard shambled aside to make room. He wore a crude leather hood, shielding unhealthy pale skin. Only his eyes were visible, grey and bloodshot. When they were aloft, he banged a massive scythe against the base of the platform, to roar, “BREEDER!” Someone halfway up the cliff took up the call, relaying it to the top.

Valkyrie whipped around to him. “I’m no breeder,” she hissed, hoisting her rifle, tight with fear and old pain.

He held his free hand out. “Hey! Hey! What’s it matter? Di’nt I let you up?” Before Val could reply, she was half-choked from behind by the other guard.

She elbowed, whirled, stamped, until the first guard howled and the hooded guard grabbed her hair. “Hrrrrah!” she cried, backhanding him with her rifle’s butt. He cursed and darted, blocking her with the scythe.

When the platform rocked to a halt, one of them was trying to get her in a headlock, the other to snatch her rifle. A voice before them cried, “STOP!” And they all paused at the sound of a second woman.

“Quit trying t’kill us,” the hooded guard grumped. “You’re a female type, you get to go with her. A real live Milking Mother.”

Valkyrie was stunned by this amazing vision. A woman was standing at the edge of a cave's mouth. She was radiant with health, exquisitely clean against the creamy fabric she wore. Her black braids were woven up into a fitting crown for one so curved, heavenly, untouchable. The Milking Mother shouted, “Leave the platform. Give her space!” The guards obeyed. Other armed men ranged behind her, the white ghosts Valkyrie remembered from the road war. War Boys, but called to heel by a Milking Mother.

“I. I’m looking for Furiosa. I was…” Her tribe? Her peer? Her lover? Everything felt impossible at this moment, especially considering that Furiosa had returned to a place with beauties like this.

The woman inclined her head. “Please do as I say, or you will be sent back down. I will hold your rifle,” she commanded. Valkyrie handed it over, and rolled her bike off, following. She was now in the Citadel. And this woman alone showed how it had changed from the place Furiosa had fled.

Valkyrie was half a head taller than the woman. “Come.” Ringed by the guards, they proceeded to the side of the cave. It was full of too much strangeness for Val to take in. She focused on the graceful sway of the Milking Mother, following her to a different huge guard, where she had to leave her bike.

Valkyrie snarled at him. “Don’t touch it."

The Milking Mother distracted her. “Here. Aqua-cola. Drink from the clean barrel. Rinse yourself in the dirty one. There is,” she hinted, heavily, “some soap.” While she did this, the Milking Mother’s dark eyes never left her. “Are you well?”

Val rocked on her heels, suddenly weary. Swamps and sour water flashed in her mind’s eye. “I don’t know. I truly don’t. I could be sick inside with the lumps. I never…I wish I knew.”

The Milking Mother inclined her crown of braids. “Then you must wait apart. Follow, please.”

Their path took them along deeper darkness than Valkyrie had seen in years. It came to her, too late, that she had undermined herself with her moment’s honesty. She was brought to a terrifyingly enclosed room. Was it spacious? After living without buildings for thirty-five thousand days, Valkyrie could barely tell. Its two mercies were a cot and a slit through the stone into the daylight. “Stay here. The next one who comes will be Furiosa.”

“Wait, I have more questions  – “  Reaching out, Val brushed the Milking Mother’s arm by accident. Her skin was meltingly soft, warm and alive. Valkyrie pulled back, blinded by a flare of desire. By the time she recovered, the Milking Mother was gone. The door was closed. The only thing that could happen was what she had wanted when she’d left the desert. What had sent her to the Rock Riders, the hard road, Gastown, the Citadel, riding in Furiosa’s shadow all the way.

Valkyrie breathed, and remembered who she was, as she had beneath the desert stars.

Eventually, the door rattled. Outside, a light voice, muffled, said, “Who’s in there? Say your name.”

“I am Valkyrie. I am one of the – is that you, Furiosa?”

The door creaked open in reply. Furiosa slid in. After one shell-shocked stare, she banged against the door and called, “Go. It’s her.” She did something complicated to the door’s fastenings while Val stared. Furiosa had barely been able to raise her voice. She was thinner, her shocking paleness dappled with livid, yellowing bruises. The awful mechanical arm was gone. Her right eye was bloodshot, the eyelid lazy, but her left eye was sharp as the star of Venus, staring Valkyrie down.

Furiosa folded her battered right arm across her body. She rasped, “I thought you were dead.”

Valkyrie replied, “You look close to it.” After days of strangers, it made Furiosa all the more one of Valkyrie’s people.

This was it. The words she’d planned were dry and dirty in her mouth. The pull that had brought her here made her want to spit them aside. But she had to have her say.

“You left me for dead. I learned what this place made of you as I rode here. You broke deals. You became a nightmare for the sake of your people here.” Furiosa sank back against the door, her breath a double, pained note.

Valkyrie said, “You were like me.”

Furiosa swallowed. " _What?_ "

Val stared at her like she was the sun. “You found me being bait. Ready to kill. We’d lost everything we tried to be, except staying a tribe. I felt it was on me to keep them alive. You, for your people, you did that. You did what I couldn’t do.”

Furiosa stepped forwards, shaking her head. Both her eyes were narrow and reddened, now. “I didn’t do any better than you. We did the same. Six people. Only six. Out of all of them.”

Valkyrie closed the gap so they could collapse against each other. They were still the same height, like they'd always been. She kept her head back from Furiosa’s graceful neck, conscious of her dirty, hopelessly tangled hair, and of more. “That Milking Mother asked if I was sick.”

Furiosa dragged her close. “Quarantine. Fuck that. I missed you. I missed you. I’ve been dead without you. If it wasn’t for those girls…”

“Furi. Furi. If you were dead I’d have known it. I’d have felt you go.”

Their clench, falling into each other, rolled them against a wall. It was the reverse of their first embrace amidst the dunes. Here Valkyrie was the one armoured and layered. Without the metal arm and its waist bracer, Furiosa’s torso was lean beneath light fabric, soft, clean, amazing stuff. Despite this, Furiosa was the one gritting back tears, reaching with her one hand to stroke Valkyrie’s cheek. “Your skin.”

“Yes. I’m dirty.” Val remembered, abruptly, thinking on her ride that her bait days were behind her.

Furiosa’s hand shook. “No. You’re, so…” She took her hand back, curled it into a fist, inhaling in pained silence.

“A woman’s skin. I know.” Val reached up and drew her hand back, inviting Furiosa’s touch.

Furiosa cupped Val’s cheek, turned it to her. Val felt the restrained force of her again. “The way you say it.”

“What about it?” Val breathed.

“Like whatever happened, you still deserve…” Furiosa shook her head. Her chapped lips parted. They fell into each other again, deeper, swaying in a kiss as long and hallucinogenic as their first reunion.

Val backed off for a moment, turned her mouth’s suckling probing into soft kisses, until Furiosa’s five fingers tangled in her hair, hard and urgent. Furiosa’s thirsty mouth wasn’t holding back. Whatever had battered her along her own journey had also opened her up. She was the one who edged them towards the cot. Valkyrie collapsed against it, grateful, suddenly boneless. She was so lashed into her battle gear that it took both of them to extract her.

Val removed piece after piece of her trophies, weaponry, clothing. As she peeled off her upper shirt, Furiosa said. “This room…was mine. Before. Used to lie here and think of you. I counted the days since we’d…”

Val was barely free of her upper gear and boots before she succumbed to skin hunger again. She wrapped both arms around Furiosa. They rolled together. Furiosa cried out in pain, involuntary. “Ribs,” she said. Furiosa rolled herself on top, grunting. “Leave my shirt, there’s bandages – they’ve got to stay.”

“Oh, Furi.” Valkyrie slid her hands up and cupped Furiosa’s breasts, relieved to find them like her own: softened by time, tips hard with want. Stroking Furiosa’s nipples made her jolt and gasp, until she reached down with her one hand to mimic Val’s touch. She rolled one of Val’s dark nipples between strong, cold fingers. Val arched up, drawn by the touch. Furiosa leaned into her, rested their torsos together. Furiosa’s legs were untouched by injury; Val’s muscles, after seven days riding, were like steel. With their leather-clad thighs locked together, Val arching up more, they rocked together for hot moments, finding a pulsing, taunting rhythm.

Val broke first, tried to ease away carefully to peel her lower leathers off. It took Furiosa, with one hand, twice as long to do the same thing. Val laid one hand over Furiosa’s. “Can I?” In the close, sweaty room, Furiosa went still, then made a noise of assent. Val stripped her leathers down with a fast, hard jerk and sank to kneeling in the same motion.

Kneeling there, Val rolled her face against Furiosa’s hips. The skin there was hot and moist from confinement. Val inhaled above her tangled pubes, gasped at the sharp, sexual tang of her, combined with leather and guzzoline. “Let me taste you. Drink you.” Furiosa, again, said nothing, only spread. Val dove home.

All that drive to reunite had been for this. As much of Furiosa’s touch as she could have at once, her hot, hidden, sensuous flesh. Still kneeling, Val shifted so that Furiosa’s legs arced over her shoulders, used both hands to tease her open, gently. For a moment, she drew back to admire Furiosa’s clit. Val had remembered it, perfect and distinct as an almond, defined as the first joint of Furiosa’s smallest finger. That hand was gone, the green almond trees were seared dead, they were both sere and damaged. Valkyrie closed the gap to spite it all, sealing her mouth around the beauty that remained.

For the journey wasn’t done until this was complete. Until Furiosa’s hips were grinding against her slick, hot face while she cried Val’s name, again and again. Until Val, clamped in ecstasy, one hand stroking the hot trigger of her own clit, bucked upwards in reply, shattered as if she’d fired a killing shot.

Disentangling returned them to awkwardness. Val, shakily, arranged herself beside Furiosa. The two of them barely fit on the cot. “Is this still your room?”

Furiosa half-laughed, half-coughed. “Not anymore. They tell me I get to pick now.”

“What _happened?_ ” Val asked. Furiosa talked at last, of the elements of the battle, the deaths, the survivors. Too many Vuvalini: not enough Vuvalini. The girls, now Sisters, and the alliance they had wrought with the Immortan’s son, Corpus.

At the end of it, Valkyrie heard herself saying, “What about that...that spare bloke?”

“Max. His name was Max. He did in the filth who drove that truck over you. He…” There was a long, significant pause. “Got us home. He was alive, whole enough to walk away. Which he did. Haven’t seen him since.”

Val mused, “The Wastelands, they always need a hero…”

“He could’ve stayed.” There was another of those haunted pauses.

“Your allies should watch out. There’s a Rock Rider out there who wants to kill you.”

Furiosa lifted her left brow. “Only one?”

“They don’t think much of you in Gastown.”

Furiosa said, “That’s usual.”

Val gripped her wrist to say, “I’m not sure if they’re going to come for you or not. To try and take what you have here.”

Furiosa’s face tightened. “They will. All of them.” With her one hand, she stroked a coarse strap of Valkyrie’s hair. “I got to see you again. And you don’t hate me. So.” Rasping again, she asked, “Can you stay?”

Val took back her lock of hair, smoothed it out. Slowly, she wrapped it around Furiosa’s right wrist, gave it a tug. Furiosa was so pale, she wished she could send some of her own blood through the tie. “It’s like this. So. Yes.”  

Furiosa said nothing. But she did what she had held back from when she had reunited with Valkyrie in the desert: leaned her head close, brushing their foreheads together, while embracing Valkyrie with both her arms, the whole one and the handless one.

Banging on the door sent them both bolting upright. Outside, a jumble of women’s eager voices were talking at once.

Furiosa muttered, “Joe-damn it,” and began to move, only to find herself wrapped by Val for one last embrace. “Val!”

“What? We’re not sixteen…any more.”

Nose to nose, they stared at each other and began to laugh. The women outside the door did, too. It all blended together for a moment, until Valkyrie heard her name called. Then, she wasn’t sure if she pulled Furiosa up, or if Furiosa was the one who drew her to stand and face the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Most of my _Mad Max_ stories are in a 'verse with continuity. This one isn't - it's gone off road so that Valkyrie can live. A salute to schwarmerei1 and all the wonderful wlw and femslashers out there.


End file.
